by E. M. Moore
Deflated and annoyed, I trudge to Ms. Ebon’s office after breakfast. Mia has to give me directions, but there are handy signs on some of the walls, so I should learn my way around sooner rather than later and not have to ask where I’m going all the time.
I knock heavily on the gigantic, wooden door. “Come in,” she calls.
The door creaks as I swing it open. Ms. Ebon stays behind her desk and gestures toward the chair across from her. I take a seat, the wood protesting under my weight. When I asked Mia what she thought my advisor wanted to meet me about, she said she didn’t know but guessed it had something to do with my schedule if I hadn’t gotten that yet.
Instead, the first words out of Ms. Ebon’s mouth shock me. “I need you to fill out this questionnaire about Jonah.” I take it from her, and after quickly scanning it, I peer back at her with a frown. “Are you kidding?”
“That’s the second time you’ve asked me that. I’ll once again assure you, Kinsey, that I have a very important job to do. My methods work, so if you would please fill out the questionnaire, I will share some information with you.”
I tap my feet against the floor and read through the paper again. This is different than anything I could’ve imagined. Do you find your mate attractive? What could your mate do to help you find them more attractive? Do you like his/her personality? This sounds more like I’m signing up for online dating.
I study Ms. Ebon from the corner of my eye, but she’s already moved on to other work. This seems like a freaking waste of time. We’re talking about fate here, right? What does it matter if we find them attractive when it was meant to be?
With a sigh, I resign myself to filling the form out. I pluck a pen from her mug of writing utensils and get to work.
Do I find Jonah attractive? A part of me wants to get revenge and say “no, he’s a petty asshole.” But Jonah is a god, to put it lightly. I’ve always lusted after him, to be honest. Every female wolf did. It’s actually shocking that Jonah would have a problem with his mate. Which means, obviously, I am the problem, aren’t I?
The form leaves a huge space for me to answer the question, but I don’t feel particularly loquacious about this topic, so I just write Yes. It kills me to do it.
What could your mate do to help you find them more attractive? I smirk. Ha. That’s easy. Don’t be a dick, I write in the box. Then, because apparently I am talkative about this topic, I keep going. It would be nice to have a mate that was open-minded and wouldn’t jump to conclusions. I find that really sexy.
Do you like his/her personality?
Ha. Another good one. Not particularly. I was treated like an outsider since I was a pup due to something that’s not true and completely out of my control.
I tap my pencil against the wooden desk, thinking. My statement is entirely accurate. However, thinking back, Jonah was always nice and respectful to others. I can’t remember a time when he participated in talking shit about me either. He didn’t stop it, but he didn’t actively participate. He just ignored me. I bite my lip and add: But I saw him be nice and respectful to other people, so that’s not all that bad.
I fill out the rest of the form, trying hard not to roll my eyes at some of the other questions, including What would you want to do on a date? What do you like to eat? If you could go anywhere, where would you go? There are more questions concerning him, too, as well as abstract ones like What would you want in an ideal guy? To that, I answer: Just someone to come home to that will accept me for me.
It’s a little too much like a dating profile, but I go with it. Ms. Ebon has awesome statistics, so she must be doing something right. At least, I have to tell myself that because the alternative is too scary.
“Finished,” I tell Ms. Ebon.
She holds her hand out. “Excellent.”
I pass the form back to her, and she reads it over while leaning in her chair. I take the time to study her room more. There are a lot of textbooks about human personalities and interpersonal relationships. She has one book that stands out called The Study of Love. Maybe I need to check that one out. I could use some pointers.
I want to smack myself as soon as I think it. The warring part of my personality is arguing that we shouldn’t have to work to be someone else for our fated mate. This is all bullshit.
Ms. Ebon stands. “Come with me, dear.” She walks from her office, and I follow. Other shifters traverse the halls now. Everyone peers at me curiously but shies away from Ms. Ebon. It’s her stark appearance, I think. She’s very prim and proper. She doesn’t look like someone who ever lets her hair down to have fun.
When we’re at the end of the hall, she swings a door open, clutching my file to her chest. I walk in and freeze. She nudges me further, the big door thudding closed behind us. We’re in a salon. A legit salon with a wall full of mirrors, a barber shop chair, and beauty magazines. The place smells like hairspray.
“Come sit,” Ms. Ebon demands, gripping the back of the salon chair.
I stare at my frantic blue eyes in the mirror surrounded by a plain face. I always envied the girls who wore makeup. I was never big on it because I assumed it would make me stand out, like I was trying to conform, but also because makeup wasn’t in my parents’ budget. My auburn hair ends in waves past my shoulders. Since I actually styled it today, it looks pretty awesome.
My feet are lead weights as I slowly trudge toward the chair. I step up on the little, silver footrest and sit back. Ms. Ebon looms above me. She studies my face, and I just know I’m about to get a rude awakening.
If I filled out that paper, so did Jonah.
Maybe he prefers blondes? Someone thinner? Bigger? All I know is that I really shouldn’t fucking care, and if my advisor is about to spout some bullshit on making me look like Jonah’s ideal girl, I will not be responsible for what happens.
“This is my own little studio that I use on my advisees. You already filled out the questionnaire, so you’ve probably guessed that Jonah filled out the same one. You’d be correct.”
My stomach twists. I shouldn’t have eaten all that food this morning.
“Would you like to see what Jonah wrote about you?”
My eyes narrow. I stare straight into my reflected eyes as if I could see inside my own soul. Everything in me is screaming Fuck no. Instead of swearing freely, I smile at my advisor through the mirror. “No, thank you.”
She takes out the paper and shoves it into my hands anyway. “Too bad.”
I don’t want to look. Please don’t look. But curiosity gets the better of me. I glance down. Sure enough, it’s the exact same form I filled out minutes ago, neat handwriting penned across the page. I read the answer to the first question.
Do you find your mate attractive?
His answer: Yes. Kinsey is beautiful. She just never lets anyone see it.
I choke on air. Is that air? Because I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to be this hard to breathe when I’ve been doing it all my life.
“We’re here because I want to leave anything further up to you. For the record, if he had written that he didn’t find you attractive, I never would’ve shown you the paperwork.”
“Yeah, well, how many of them actually say they don’t?”
She grimaces. “A fair few do but appearances aren’t everything. Love can be borne from many things. Eventually, you start to find things to love about your partner that you never saw before. Maybe the pig nose you said they had becomes the thing you love about them most. Personality quirks. Conversation. I bring my students in here because I believe that confidence does a lot for the soul.” Ms. Ebon studies her own appearance, and a slow smile creeps across her lips. “This part of the process isn’t for your mate. It’s for you. I have a hairstylist, a makeup artist, a designer on call. Would you like a change? Or would you like to stay the way you are?”
I press my lips together, and our gazes meet in the mirror. “Is this a trick question?”
“Absolutely not.”
I gi
ve her a short nod and then study myself. “I love my hair,” I tell her, pulling my auburn strands over one shoulder. Then, I look at the plain features of my face, and my gaze drifts toward the beauty magazines where girls are all wearing makeup and look completely put together. “I’ve never had makeup. It might be fun to try that. I don’t have any money, though,” I tell her.
Ms. Ebon settles her hands on my shoulders. Surprisingly, her touch soothes me. “It’s absolutely free. Our pack cares a lot about our wolves. I’m getting the feeling you may not have experienced that before, but I hope that you will here. We’re strict, but it’s for a reason. Give me one second, and I’ll get my makeup artist in here.”
She turns her back and sends off a text. Within minutes, a supermodel walks into the room. She has dark, wavy hair that falls to her shoulders. She smiles, her lips painted in a pink that looks absolutely fantastic against her darker complexion. “Look at you,” she says. Immediately, she gathers my hair back, running her fingers through it. “What a beautiful mane. Let me guess, you’re a red wolf?”
I nod. “Red like fire.”
“I bet you’re gorgeous. I’m black, obviously. We would be like flame and smoke standing next to each other.”
Ms. Ebon butts in. “Grace, this is Kinsey Walker. She’s interested in your makeup expertise. Why don’t you go ahead and explain to her what you want, Kinsey?”
I blush, but all Grace does is wait for me to speak. The back of my neck heats, and my fingers curl around the arms of the chair. It feels weird to have people looking at me and not telling me what a disgrace I am. It’s kind of nice.
“Well, I’ve never worn makeup before. I was kind of hoping you could teach me how to put it on. Maybe a natural look so I don’t, like, stand out?”
“So the exact opposite of me?” Grace asks, striking a model pose in the mirror and pursing her lips.
I laugh. “I’m not sure I could pull off pink.” I cringe because I honestly don’t know what I could pull off. “I just don’t want people staring at me, you know?”
“I hear you, girl. I got this.” She turns to the corner of the room where a whole beauty bar awaits. Her gaze tracks back and forth from my face to different colors and then she returns with a whole mess of things I only know by name from TV.
She goes through step-by-step, keeping the look minimal like I asked. She doesn’t just put it on for me, she teaches me how to do it myself. She applies the makeup to the left side of my face while I do the right using her technique. When we’re finished, I stare in the mirror at someone who looks like an upgraded version of me. A slightly refreshed, invigorated version that’s somehow still me.
Grace runs her finger under the side of my lip where I messed up a smidge of the natural red color. “There,” she finishes. “You’re so pretty, Kinsey. You were already pretty before, now you just have a little snaz added.” She drops my new makeup items into a bag and hands it to me. “Good luck getting your man back.”
She spins and leaves, and I’m left frowning at her through the mirror. I’d somehow forgotten I was in here for Jonah. It felt like I was at some luxury spa, and here I am, being thrust back into reality. “I didn’t do this for Jonah,” I say to no one in particular.
“I know you didn’t,” Ms. Ebon states. “Like I said, this was for you. Come on, we have other things to do today.”
I swing the bag by my side as we walk from the room. There are a few stragglers in the hallway once again. They all stare at me, and this time my cheeks bloom, most likely darkening the very little blush we applied.
I spend the rest of the meeting with Ms. Ebon reading what else Jonah said in the paperwork. She tells me it’s a way of getting to know him without all the pack pressure surrounding us.
At odds with her words, I don’t actually feel any pack pressure. All I feel is distrust and hurt.
His words on the sheet in precise, careful handwriting only eases my worries a little. He’s quite open and authentic, which makes me glad I filled it out the same way. His only real complaint is that I don’t act as if I’m in a pack. Our initial meeting is going to be an eye-opener because I’m not going to be quiet when we have that conversation. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I won’t have a problem telling him so.
If they want me to lie to get into Jonah’s good graces, that’s not happening.
7
When I get back to the Lunar and Daybreak wing, I peer down its length. I don’t know how many Daybreak wolves are here, but I know I’m the lone Lunar. Dozens of doors line this hallway, and I’ll be happy if most of them are empty. In a way, though, it feels like I’m secluded again, singled out for being different.
My nose twitches when I open my door. Jonah’s scent is everywhere, emanating from the closet. There have only been a few times in my life when I haven’t appreciated my superior sense of smell. This is one of them.
Placing my new makeup on the desk, I drop to my bed and disregard the enticing aroma. I need to get some Greystone Academy manual reading done since I lied to Ms. Ebon and told her I’d already started.
But before I begin, I turn my phone on, expecting there to be texts from Mom and Dad. I’m not disappointed. They have always been the hovering kind. They believed they could shelter me from the shitshow that was my life. In a way, it was nice to have them always asking me how I was and making sure nothing happened at school that day. But when I got into my preteens, parents sticking their noses into school situations only made the bullying worse. According to my wolfpeers, not only did I deserve to go Feral, now I was a tattletale. So, my parents haven’t known what I’ve dealt with as I got older. The constant name-calling, the ostracism. I kept it all to myself. I think they wondered why I never had friends over, but they were probably happy about that, too. One less person around meant one less person to explain things to.
Instead of answering each of their messages, I decide to call the house phone. My mom picks up like she’s just run a mile. “Kinsey?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” I shake my head. My mom has this uncanny ability to know when I’m calling. When I was younger, I thought it was magic that she always knew when I was calling. But when I got older, I realized it was because no one else ever calls them.
Time drags on like an anchor trudging through sludge while I wait for her answer. “How are they treating you?”
“Well,” I breathe, “my advisor is okay. I think. She’s going to do her best to get Jonah to accept me.” My face burns as I say it, and I can’t mask the mixture of horror, disbelief, and uncertainty. Especially not to my mother.
“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” A choked sound bubbles in the back of her throat. “Your dad and I never wanted this for you.”
Well, of course not. No parent would want this for their child. It just is. Instead of going into that, I change the subject. “I made a friend. She’s from Daybreak. She’s been here a while.”
“I don’t know if making friends is a good idea, honey.”
I bite my lip and roll toward the wall. As usual, I evade and avoid. “The rooms are nice, and I have my own bathroom,” I whisper. “We have to wear a uniform.”
“Kinsey, what are they telling you?” Mom asks, as if she didn’t hear what I said.
My stomach twists into a tangled knot and squeezes. I was trying to avoid this conversation, but seeing as it involves the Pack Council, I don’t think I can. If my parents are going to be investigated, too, they should know about it ahead of time. “Well, there are two different things. Jonah says he rejected the bond because I never tried to make myself part of the pack. Since his future job relies on the pack alpha, he wanted me to come here to reform.”
“And the second?” Mom asks, and I’m no emotional expert like Ms. Ebon, but I can guess she’s already figured it out.
I sigh. “Mom, you know. My advisor let me read the form from the Council, and their opinion on my bond is that I have questionable lineage.”
My mother’s breat
hing deepens before panting filters through the line. Like mother like daughter with angry shifting. Shifters can move into their wolf form at will, but during certain heightened emotions, the shift can take hold of us, and we can’t stop it. We’re supposed to be able to—especially someone my mother’s age—but apparently she’s beyond control.
“Calm down,” my father’s voice demands in the background. A weening cry sounds from the phone and then the line muffles. I sit up in bed, clutching a pillow to my chest. Two seconds later, my father pipes up, “Kinsey?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Is Mom okay?”
“She needs to go for a run. She hasn’t gone in hours. She’s been waiting to hear from you.”
I don’t bother telling my father what Mom and I talked about. They’re mates, and despite the fact that he was right next to her, they can also communicate telepathically. I used to hate that fact when I was a kid because they would always have silent conversations in their heads, mainly about bedtime or if I could get dessert, and I’d always be stuck in the dark.
Thinking about my childhood makes my heart ache. I always saw their love. The accusations that my mother strayed outside of her bonded mate seemed like such an out-there theory.
“I know this is hard, Kinsey. Your mother and I will convince the Council...again. You just need to worry about Jonah because we want you to come back to us.”
A howl sounds in the background, and a jagged crack splits my heart. “I love you, Mom,” I whisper.
“She knows. We both love you.”
My mouth feels thick, like my tongue is too filled with the truth to speak, and my father won’t want to hear it anyway, but I can’t stand not to be honest with them. “Dad, it’s not fair. I’m supposed to win Jonah back when he—” My voice breaks.
“Kinsey.” Dad’s voice hardens, taking me off guard. “You love Jonah. Jonah is your mate. This is a hiccup in the beginning of everything you will be together. Think of all the shifter babies you’ll have. How you’ll bless the pack. It’s a miracle. You’ll do anything to fix this, right?”